Chapter 3: Woman outside the door

Perhaps even Liu Tingsong herself hadn’t noticed,
but Xu Fengruo remembered.
That knock—one long, two short—
had accompanied her for a full year.
Every morning,
Liu Tingsong would knock on her door like this,
softly calling:
“Xu Fengruo.”

If no sound came from inside,
she’d repeat it once more.

If Xu Fengruo responded,
she’d reply in a gentle voice.

Liu Tingsong’s voice was beautiful,
hard to describe with precise words—
like polished Hetian jade,
falling into creamy milk,
even the splashing droplets soft,
slowly rippling outward.

Even Xu Fengruo, hyper-sensitive to sound,
couldn’t find a single fault in it.
Even her stubborn morning grumpiness
melted away completely.

Sometimes, Xu Fengruo would play coy,
staying silent on purpose,
just to hear her call again.

Through the door,
Liu Tingsong, unable to see her,
fell for this little trick every time,
never knowing the truth.

The knock came again,
but without the familiar soft call.

Xu Fengruo opened her eyes,
snapping from warm sunlight
back to the dim room.
The large instruments around her stood silent,
as if quietly watching her make a choice.

She paused,
then walked toward the door.

Through the peephole,
the figure outside was still dressed in black,
the baseball cap pulled low again,
hiding half her face
and making her emotions unreadable.

Xu Fengruo leaned lightly against the door,
silent,
just watching.

She didn’t know what the other was doing,
nor could she fathom what she was thinking.
From then to now,
the age gap felt like an impassable chasm.
Xu Fengruo couldn’t cross it,
and Liu Tingsong wouldn’t come to her.
They could only let it be,
leaving the older one to take the lead.

Just like tonight’s unprepared reunion.
Under the studio’s manipulation,
Liu Tingsong returned to her pedestal,
adorned with Baogemei’s luxurious jewelry,
resuming her role as the untouchable Heavenly Queen of music.

The escape from the bar,
the locked gazes in the alley—
they became a secret story known only to them.

A secret lover.

The phrase popped into Xu Fengruo’s mind,
and she tugged at her lips,
forming a mocking smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Such sordid affairs weren’t uncommon in her circle.
Every few days,
you’d hear of one.
Even Xu Fengruo, who paid little attention,
knew the routine by heart.

Get caught by paparazzi,
deny and clarify on V-blog,
wait for public opinion to shift,
then the patron would show up in person
to soothe their lover.

Was that what Liu Tingsong thought too?

Her forehead pressed against the wooden door,
the raised grain digging into her skin,
the cold, hard sensation failing to quell her emotions.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

She recalled the day before their separation.

Xu Fengruo still remembered—
it was rare, perfect weather.
The arguments of the previous days
dissolved under the brilliant sunlight.

She and Liu Tingsong,
as if by unspoken agreement,
canceled all their plans,
turned off their phones,
and tossed them aside.
Xu Fengruo drew the curtains,
while Liu Tingsong picked a musical they both loved.

She was cradled in Liu Tingsong’s arms.
Due to their size difference,
it looked a bit comical—
like a big dog stuffed into its owner’s lap,
sinking the soft sofa into a deep dent.

The musical hadn’t reached halfway
when they lost interest in watching.

Light, restrained kisses landed on her lips,
one after another.
Cool fingertips brushed Xu Fengruo’s nape,
trailing up and down her spine,
occasionally pinching the thin skin,
lifting it slightly.
Liu Tingsong loved this,
as if taming a puppy,
keeping Xu Fengruo entirely under her control.

Xu Fengruo never resisted,
only inching closer,
and when Liu Tingsong kissed her again,
biting her lip,
refusing to let her pull away.

The breeze pushed the heavy curtains aside,
spilling slivers of sunlight
onto their intertwined ankles,
like intricate ankle chains binding them together.

—Knock, knock-knock.

The third knock yanked Xu Fengruo from her memories.

Through the peephole,
the figure raised a hand,
knuckles tapping lightly,
the door vibrating under Xu Fengruo’s touch.

But she stayed silent,
reaching to flick the switch.
With a “click,”
the living room plunged back into darkness.

The person outside seemed to sense something,
looking up.

Xu Fengruo instinctively turned her head,
dodging once more.

Her heart, briefly stilled,
skipped a beat,
then raced to make up for it,
as if trying to reclaim what was lost.

But it knew,
no matter how fast it beat,
what was gone was gone,
what was missed was missed.

Xu Fengruo simply closed her eyes.
The soundproofing she’d insisted on during renovations
now blocked her from hearing anything outside.
Even without sight,
she couldn’t catch a single sound.

The person seemed to wait a moment,
then finally chose to leave.

Xu Fengruo wasn’t surprised.
Liu Tingsong had always been particular about the number three,
as if the phrase “never more than three” was carved into her bones.
No matter what she did,
she wouldn’t try beyond three times—
even calling Xu Fengruo to wake up.

So Xu Fengruo, no matter how stubborn,
would only delay until the third call,
then mumble sleepily in response.

Liu Tingsong would say:
“Time to wake up.”

The hallway light flickered on,
then dimmed,
until it was swallowed by the night.

Xu Fengruo stood in place,
lingering for a while,
until her calves went numb,
recalling the long-forgotten pain of military training from school.

Back then, she couldn’t understand
why training meant standing ramrod straight.
Bullets wouldn’t curve just because you stood tall.

But stand she did,
and to ease the pain,
she distracted herself,
mentally banging gongs and drums,
composing rebellious tunes against authority and fate.
Her music theory teacher had commented:
“Your songs feel like they’re on fire.”

How could they not?

She’d been scorched to charcoal by the blazing sun!

But now, she couldn’t compose.
Her mind was either blank,
refusing to think,
or filled entirely with Liu Tingsong.
The few notes that surfaced
were too chaotic to form anything,
even if Beethoven himself were alive,
he’d probably say:
“My ears are truly deaf now.”

What a lousy cold joke.

Xu Fengruo exhaled heavily,
stomping her numb leg hard against the floor.
A thousand tiny ants seemed to crawl up her foot,
biting through skin, veins, and bones.

It tormented her for a while
before she could slowly press the door handle to open it.

—Click.

The motion-sensor light outside flicked on again,
illuminating the empty hallway.
The air still held traces of that floral scent,
but the person was long gone.

Xu Fengruo paused,
then tilted her head to look at the door.

As always,
when Liu Tingsong couldn’t wake her,
she’d leave a square sticky note on the door—
the plain kind from any stationery shop,
written with a black carbon pen:
“Breakfast is in the microwave. I’ve taken leave for you. Rest well today.”

Like the caring parent Xu Fengruo loved as a child.

This time was no different.
The sticky note and pen hadn’t changed,
nor had the color—
plain, like some old-fashioned teacher,
not the Heavenly Queen adored by millions.

Xu Fengruo tore it off,
barely glancing at it,
crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into the room.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to throw it in the trash—
in the dark, she simply couldn’t find the bin.

The door slammed shut quickly,
the lights still off.
Guided by muscle memory,
she headed straight to the bathroom.

Moments later,
water sounded,
steam seeping through the door crack,
followed by the rustle of toweling,
brushing teeth,
and the hum of a hairdryer.

A while later,
Xu Fengruo finally climbed into bed.

The minute hand circled,
joining the hour hand at 2.

The person in bed tossed and turned,
kicking off the blankets,
then pulling them back,
closing her eyes,
then opening them,
restless without end.

Four in the morning.

The blankets were flung off.
Xu Fengruo sat up abruptly,
her silver hair a wild mess from rubbing,
her eyelids half-lowered,
revealing irritated yet wide-awake eyes.

She finally gave in,
dragging herself up like it was fate,
her pudding-dog slippers slapping loudly.

The living room light flicked on again.

“Where did I throw it…”

The one who’d tossed it so carelessly
was now scratching the back of her head,
frantic and annoyed.

“I swear I threw it right here.”

Her white hair puffed up more,
like a pile of wool curls.
Thanks to her good looks,
she didn’t seem sloppy.

Xu Fengruo had a softer appearance than most Chinese,
with deep contours,
a sharp jawline,
a high, gracefully curved nose.
Her androgynous handsomeness
was softened by slightly full lips
and a rounded lip bead,
creating an ambiguous, striking beauty.

Her most striking feature was her jade-green eyes,
like a summer pond,
with textures like sprawling mountains.
Even a fleeting glance
carried vibrant life.

But now, she was a mess,
crawling on the floor,
peering under instruments.

How a tiny piece of paper could vanish like that,
she didn’t know.
She crawled around for ages,
finding nothing.

Outside, the night was pitch-black.
Her light was the only one in the building.
Cicadas droned endlessly,
the wind rustling leaves.
Only now did the summer’s oppressive heat ease slightly.

After much effort,
Xu Fengruo finally found the crumpled note in a crevice.

But with one glance,
she tore the hard-won paper to shreds
and tossed it into the trash.

She’d have been better off not looking.
Now she needed another shower.

Her face cold,
she stood and headed back to the bathroom.

Downstairs,
the person’s eyelids lowered,
then lifted.

Still in all black,
she’d been standing there since coming down.

Her legs felt the same itching numbness,
but she ignored it,
as if unaware,
until she saw the room plunge into darkness again.
Only then did she slowly come to.

Her phone, left in the car,
lit up again with countless missed calls.

The car door opened.
Liu Tingsong slid into the driver’s seat,
pausing for a moment
before answering another incoming call.

The voice on the other end was urgent,
scolding her recklessness.

Before they could say more,
Liu Tingsong cut in,
her voice devoid of the softness Xu Fengruo remembered,
coldly stating:
“From now on,
you don’t act without my permission.”

The other tried to argue,
but Liu Tingsong was faster,
warning:
“Du Yurong, I’m no longer your artist.”

Her tone hardened,
emphasizing:
“You’re my employee.”

The call ended,
the phone tossed aside.

After a long pause,
Liu Tingsong drove away.